Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Bhutan and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Bronski Beat show in Brixton.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1960 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks to the rap kids.
I played it at Trash.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Manfred Mann's Earth Band. All the underground hits.
All Zero Boys tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pussy Galore record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ponytail record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Cowsills,
Bush Tetras,
Man Eating Sloth,
Soulsonic Force,
Ultravox,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Victims,
Johnny Clarke,
Ornette Coleman,
Nik Kershaw,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Hasil Adkins,
X-101,
Henry Cow,
Marine Girls,
The Smiths,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Gastr Del Sol,
Lalo Schifrin,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Dave Clark Five,
Crispian St. Peters,
Magazine,
Curtis Mayfield,
Hardrive,
The J.B.'s,
the Slits,
Tubeway Army,
Bill Near,
The Smoke,
The Knickerbockers,
Jesper Dahlback,
Mantronix,
Joe Smooth,
Echospace,
The Blackbyrds,
The United States of America,
Main Source,
X-Ray Spex,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Duran Duran,
Rapeman,
James White and The Blacks,
Man Parrish,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Erykah Badu,
Can,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Standells,
Jimmy McGriff,
FM Einheit,
Gong,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Leaves,
MDC,
Electric Prunes,
Frankie Knuckles,
Eurythmics, Eurythmics, Eurythmics, Eurythmics.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.